


All That I Saw

by disapparater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Break Up, Eavesdropping, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Introspection, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weasley's got a secret, Harry's acting strangely, Granger's made a new friend and Draco's just trying to figure it all out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I Saw

**Author's Note:**

> Glompfest fic written for drarryisgreen.

Draco loved to hate his Wednesday mornings on the Magical Adversity and Errancy ward. As a trainee Healer he was given the simple cases to deal with (a fumbled slicing hex while chopping vegetables or an infected Pixie bite, for example), but the work was constant and relentless. In his five hour shift he had to deal with hundreds of—often panicking—people with only a fifteen minute break to use the toilet and down the strongest cup of coffee he could lay his hands on. This wasn't the most enjoyable way to spend his break—Draco hated coffee—but it needed to be done if he was to get through the rest of the morning.

The only redeeming feature of a shift on the Magical A&E ward was the stories it left Draco with. When he found himself with a day off, drinking tea at the Manor with his mother or downing pints at the pub with his friends, a recounting of the witch who'd gone overboard with a magnetic charm and shown up with a frying pan attached to her face was always met with gales of laughter. Draco's mother had shocked him at first, but he was now used to her asking him to retell the one about the wizard who'd miscast _Engorgio_ and split his penis in two.

Draco's personal favourites were always the witches and wizards who showed up after inserting a wand up their arse and accidentally shooting off a spell. These people made up at least 10% of Draco's Wednesday mornings; he had no idea what got into people on Tuesday nights (or, more accurately, he knew exactly what got into people). He saw so many, in fact, that every morning he'd have a bet with himself over which excuse he'd hear more that day: 'I slipped and fell' or 'it was just there when I woke up'.

It was now five minutes to twelve and Draco's stomach was roiling with hunger. After a morning of the usual cases (including one wild card excuse of 'my toddler put it there'), Draco had one more case to deal with until he could retire to the cafeteria for lunch.

The case was simple enough. A teenage girl had brought in her five-year-old brother, who had managed to get a Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean stuck up his nose. It was an easy and delicate _Accio_ , but the poor girl was petrified she'd summon his brain out through his nose if she attempted it herself.

As Draco performed the spell, he could sense someone in the hallway by the open door, but kept his attention on the matter at hand.

“ _Accio_.”

Accompanied by a subtle wand movement, the bean popped out and landed in Draco's hand. Before Draco had time to cringe at the dingy green coloured sweet in his palm, the boy it belonged to had snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Bogeys!” the child proclaimed with a smile.

Draco laughed heartily, already imagining his mother's face when he'd tell her this story on Sunday. The child's sister, however, breathed a quick sigh of relief over her words of thanks before she screwed up her face in disgust and swiftly ushered her brother from the room.

While waving his wand to sterilise the room—and his hand—Draco glanced at the figure still waiting for him at the doorway. Potter—Harry, they _were_ friends now—gave an awkward wave and Draco smiled to let him know that he'd seen him.

A few more spells later, Draco closed the door behind him as he made his way over to Harry, and they began their walk to the cafeteria.

“Hey. Good morning?” Harry asked.

“Fair,” Draco answered. And then, to the unasked question, “Nine-four to 'I slipped and fell'.”

Harry laughed and Draco's gaze wandered to Harry's wand, nestled neatly in its holster at his hip. He suppressed a grin. Draco had noticed Harry stop keeping his wand in the back pocket of his trousers after hearing his own fair share of 'I slipped and fell's.

It had taken them the better part of the six months of their training at St Mungo's to become friends. To say Draco had been surprised to see Harry on the first day of Healer training would be an understatement. With most of the freshly graduated Hogwarts students choosing to go into Auror training after the war, however, they had been the youngest two students in the class. They had gravitated towards one another despite their history; simply glad to see a familiar face. This didn't make working together easy, though.

The first three months of their training had been entirely class based. Draco and Harry had sat together from 7:00 am until 5:30 pm, only speaking when paired work was required of them. They even sat near each other at lunch time, though never close enough that they could be accused of actually sitting together.

Slowly, as their work in pairs became more frequent, they loosened up. Draco would nod in greeting and Harry would smile in return. They began chatting about inconsequential things like their lecturer's choice of gaudy ties (Draco loved them, Harry thought he looked unprofessional) and whether the lady serving the lunches in the cafeteria would crack a smile that day (always a unanimous 'no'). The gap in their lunch time seating arrangements closed so gradually that by the time they were sitting at the same table, Draco was convinced no one could have been sure they hadn't always sat like that.

In the fourth month of training they began work placement mornings across different departments within the hospital. The work was basic at first, but it gave them experience in the busy environment they would eventually be working within full time. Draco loved his Monday mornings in the Poisoned Paralysis ward on the third floor. It was always quieter than the other wards (total paralysis had that effect) and a lot of the work involved working with potions. Draco hated the Thursday mornings he spent in the Creature Catastrophes ward on the first floor. It dealt with the worst creature injuries possible and gave Draco a new beast to develop a fear of each week. His stress levels on Thursdays always left him wondering why he'd recently given up smoking.

Despite the change in routine, each day at 12:00 pm, without fail, found Draco and Harry meeting for lunch. A few times they had even gone out for a drink together after work, talking and laughing easily, before heading their separate ways once their respective friends arrived.

It had been over six months now, and they had finally decided to stop fooling themselves and actually be friends. They had even managed a night out just last Friday—with both groups of friends at the same pub. Draco had listened politely to Granger telling him how happy she was in her (to Draco, frankly boring) job, but turned away when Weasley popped up to steal her attention. Harry had amused Draco by dancing with Pansy to the most god-awful songs for at least twenty minutes (no matter how much Pansy begged, Draco had never managed to dance with her for more than two songs).

And now here they were, making their way to lunch. Friends. Draco smiled and shook his head, still disbelieving when he stopped to think about it long enough.

“You okay?” Harry asked, obviously catching the action.

“Fine,” Draco replied, still smiling. Harry smiled back at him, curiosity in his eyes. “I think I'll have chips today.” Draco swiftly changed the subject. “Do you think if I ask for exactly 42 chips Mabel will finally deign to give me a smile?”

“Mabel will never smile at you. Why would you want exactly 42 chips?”

“Why not?” Draco shrugged before declaring, “I _will_ get her to smile at me.”

“Because I want to be healthy and just get a Ploughman's sarnie, but that's a lot of chips and you won't eat them all. Then who will you force to finish them?”

“I will not force you to finish anything. Why are you trying to be healthy?” This was the first time Draco had heard Harry use the word 'healthy'. “I hate pickle,” he added absent-mindedly.

“Not all of us can eat what the hell we want and still remain beanstalk skinny.” Harry eyed Draco up and down meaningfully before adding, “How can you not like pickle?”

“It's too sweet for savoury meals.” As they entered the cafeteria Draco grabbed a tray and unconsciously glanced over to make sure their usual table was free. “You're not exactly marrow fat yourself, you know. Though a sandwich does sound tasty; do you think Mabel would whip up a chip butty for me?”

“I want to say no, but as much as she'll never smile at you, she _does_ like you, so probably yes.” Harry grabbed up his own tray and they fell in line together. “Also: marrow fat?”

“I took your vegetable analogy and ran with it. Here we go,” Draco said as he slid his tray in front of Mabel. “Afternoon, Mabel. Could I please get 42 chips in a buttered bun?” He gave his most dashing smile and heard Harry give a snort beside him. Mabel looked him in the eye for a few seconds before routing around under the counter, emerging with a large bread bun in hand. Hopeful, Draco turned to look at Harry who looked somewhere between bewildered and resigned. When he turned his attention back to Mabel, she unceremoniously deposited the now chip-filled bun on Draco's tray.

“I didn't count them.” She followed her emotionless words with a sideways motion of her head, instructing Draco to move along.

Once they had filled their trays, paid and sat down in their usual seats, Draco tucked immediately into his chip butty. Mouth full, he couldn't ask why Harry, sitting opposite him, was shaking his head. Apparently, he didn't need to.

“No smile, but a chip butty, as requested. What did I tell you?”

After swallowing, Draco replied. “You must be a seer. Either that or Mabel is steadfastly predictable. Happy with your Ploughman's?” Waiting for Harry's response, Draco took another bite.

“Yes,” said Harry, though his sullen voice and the way he poked at the sandwich on his plate belied his answer.

They were quiet for a while as they both ate, until, inevitably, Draco got full and couldn't finish his chips.

“Why would she give me so many chips?” Draco whined.

“Because you asked for them. Want some help?”

“Yes.” Draco pushed his plate in Harry's direction and saw how quickly Harry abandoned his sandwich. “But don't let me force you.”

Through a mouthful of chips, Harry somehow managed to stick his tongue out.

Draco was distracted from voicing his witty retort when, over Harry's shoulder, he caught sight of a ruffled red-head rushing through the cafeteria. He must have frowned because Harry asked, “What?”

“I, er, I think Weasley's looking for you.” Draco continued to frown as Weasley's head spun from side to side, obviously in search of someone.

“Ron?” said Harry, turning to look. “Ron!” he repeated, louder, to catch his friend's attention.

Finally looking in the right direction, Weasley's face relaxed with relief and he made his way over to them and took the seat next to Harry.

“Knew I'd find you here,” Weasley said as he helped himself to a chip.

“Everything okay?” Harry asked, obviously concerned. In the six months he and Draco had been eating here, they had never had a lunchtime visitor.

“Yeah, well, no, but—”

“What's happened?” Harry interrupted Weasley's stumbling words.

Weasley looked anxiously up at Harry, across to Draco, then back to Harry. He gave a small shrug, as if knowing whatever he was going to say to Harry, Harry would no doubt share with Draco anyway. This made Draco want to smile, but sensing that a smile would not be appropriate right now, refrained from doing so.

“Me and Hermione broke up.” Weasley's voice was quiet, but clear.

No one spoke for several seconds. Even to Draco, this was a shock. Throughout school _everyone_ , even the Slytherins, could see that Granger and Weasley would end up together. How much people cared about this varied wildly, but for them to suddenly not be together had to be equally shocking for everyone who had known them.

“You and Hermione...”

“Broke up, yes.”

“...When?”

“Last night.”

Draco listened to the exchange, but remained silent. His brain still supplied an abundance of scathing comments, but he now knew better than to voice them. He'd share them with Pansy at the weekend.

“Harry, can we, erm, go talk somewhere private?” Weasley gave an apologetic cringe at Draco, and Harry nodded before looking at Draco questioningly. Draco waved them away with his hand and an understanding smile. He wasn't really interested in the specifics of the break up, or in trying to look sympathetic. Hopefully Harry would relay any interesting details later that afternoon.

Both taking another chip, Harry and Weasley walked away together, leaving Draco to think up more plots to make Mabel smile.

As Draco thought, he absent-mindedly picked at the remains of Harry's sandwich, steering clear of the pickle covered slice of bread. He didn't know how much time had passed when the vacated seat opposite him was filled again. Assuming Harry was back, Draco looked up with a smile. His smile vanished when he found himself looking into the red-rimmed eyes of Hermione Granger.

“—” Draco opened his mouth to speak but had no idea what to say.

“So you know,” said Granger. Her voice was steady, despite the fact she had recently been crying.

Draco, still unsure of what to say, simply nodded. In response, Granger pursed her lips and sighed heavily through her nose. Draco wasn't sure if she was angry or holding back more tears.

“I was looking for Harry, but obviously Ron got here before me.”

Nodding again, Draco finally decided to say something. “Listen, Granger—” He had tried for gentle and understanding, but he wasn't sure he'd succeeded before Granger interrupted.

“Don't.” For all the effort she'd obviously put in to controlling her emotions, it seemed someone—even Draco—showing some care could undo her, as a single tear rolled down one of her cheeks.

Knowing words wouldn't help anyway, but feeling the need to do _something_ , Draco reached over and placed a hand on top of Granger's, where they were tensely fisted on the table top. Instantly, and perhaps subconsciously, Granger extracted one of her hands, clasping Draco's tightly between both of hers.

She sighed again, this time relaxing as she exhaled. Her shoulders sagged and the stress in her face eased. She opened her eyes and then, to Draco's dismay, she began to talk.

“It happened last night. We've been taking things slow since the—since we got together. After years of dancing around each other, we didn't want to rush head first into it. We wanted to date and romance each other. We'd always hidden our feelings by getting angry with each other, so we wanted the chance to express how we _really_ feel.” Her mouth twisted. “Felt?” For the first time her voice cracked, and Draco felt past awkward. He had no idea how to deal with this.

Seemingly oblivious to Draco's discomfort, Granger continued. “It was all going so well. I felt loved, and I knew I loved him. We were ready to—to take things further.” Granger had her eyes averted, perhaps for the first time realising who she was talking to, while Draco's eyes had gone wide.

“I bought wine, I lit candles. I even had Barry bloody White playing!” Granger almost whispered the last part, desperation clear, but Draco had no idea who Barry White was. “Ron was pleased. He smiled, we kissed, we—” A pause, before she finally got to the hard bit. “Then he just stopped. He pulled away from me, shaking his head. He said he couldn't do it, that he was sorry, but he—we—it wasn't going to work.”

Taking a deep breath, Granger seemed to steady herself, as if saying it—getting it out—had been enough to strengthen her. Draco, on the other hand, being the one to listen, felt decidedly wobbly. Grasping at his only experience with women and break ups—Pansy—Draco turned on his autopilot.

“Well obviously he's a bloody fool, to willing give you up. And really, you're better than that—than him. You'll be moved on and happy when he wakes up and realises what a huge mistake he's made, at which point you can make him feel like the worthless piece of dirt he is for treating you like that.”

Though her eyes had widened in shock as Draco spoke, by the time he'd finished Granger let out a burst of laughter and graced him with a genuine smile.

“Thank you,” she said. “I really needed that, and I think you were the perfect person to hear it from.”

“Me? Why?”

“You're not friends with Ron; I know you mean it. Coming from Harry I would never have truly believed it.” She squeezed Draco's hand, still resting between her own, before letting go as she stood up from her chair. “I have to get back to work now. Thanks for listening, Draco.” And with that, Granger was off, leaving Draco just as baffled and speechless as when she'd arrived.

\- - -

Every afternoon the trainee Healers had classroom based lessons, projects and study time. Draco had, after resisting the urge to go upstairs for a smoke, arrived on time from lunch—alone, as Harry had not returned after leaving with Weasley—and sat in his usual place next to Harry's empty seat.

Granger, the dumpee in this break up, could detail what had happened, cry (thankfully metaphorically) on Draco's shoulder and be a little cheered up by a simple pep talk in less than half a lunch break. Draco had to wonder what on Earth could be taking Weasley, the dumper, so long to explain what had happened to Harry, have Harry make awkward understanding small talk and thump each other manly on the shoulders.

Just as the lecturer (green tie with orange rubber ducks on, Draco noted) was gathering his notes to begin the lesson, Harry stumbled through the door, a little out of breath, and rushed to his seat beside Draco. A questioning raised eyebrow from Draco received only a subtle shake of the head from Harry. After a disapproving look from the lecturer, the lesson began and Draco had to wait before interrogating him.

An hour and a half later, after learning about the intricacies of diagnosing a patient who has ingested an unknown, unfinished or out of date potion, Draco finally got his chance to question Harry.

Each pair had been given a list of ingredients of an unfinished potion a hypothetical patient had swallowed, and between them had to discuss and list possible investigations, diagnoses and treatment. Having had private Potions lessons with Severus Snape since the age of eight, Draco had glanced at the list and come to his own conclusions quickly. This left him at least half an hour to speak with Harry.

“So, what happened with Weasley?” Draco got straight to it.

Shifting on his chair, Harry kept his eyes on the list in front of him. “Do you think the salamander blood would have increased the strength of the potion?”

“No. The potion is unfinished; once brewed a potion containing salamander blood needs at least two days to mature.” Draco reeled off his answer quickly before frowning at Harry. “What did Weasley say?”

“What about the flobberworm mucus? Surely with that the salamander—”

“Thickening is not the same as maturing. Harry, why won't you tell me what happened with Weasley at lunch?”

Finally, Harry looked up from the list of potion ingredients and at Draco. He looked worried and uncomfortable. Now Draco was worried and uncomfortable.

“He—it's—I... I can't tell you.”

Draco pouted before he could stop himself. Swiftly sucking in his bottom lip, Draco asked, “Why?”

“It's his private life, and he asked me—made me swear—not to tell you. I'm sorry, but...” Harry trailed off with a shrug and looked back at his list.

Hurt more than he was willing to admit, Draco shrugged his own shoulders in an attempt to convince himself he didn't care. Draco and Harry may have shared embarrassing stories of their friends before (like the time Theo was so eager to impress the witch behind the counter at Flourish and Blotts that he bought the first thing he saw, not realising it was a book about Magically Transmitted Sexual Diseases. Not to mention when Longbottom got his trousers pulled down after accidentally wandering into a patch of knotgrass on his first date with Hannah Abbott. Both memorable examples), but apparently this time they weren't.

“Oh well, Granger shared with me her version of events, in any case.”

Harry's head spun to face Draco in an instant. “She did? When? What did she say?”

“She did. At lunch, after you and Weasley had disappeared. And really, I'm not at liberty to say. She spoke to me in confidence. This whole break up is very dramatic and hush, hush, isn't it?”

Biting his lip, Harry was obviously annoyed at Draco unwillingness to talk about what Granger had said. Considering he had just done the same though, he had no argument and let it go.

“Is she okay?” Harry asked.

Harry's concern for his friend made Draco's harsh front ease a little. He looked at Harry with sad understanding. “What do you think?”

Sighing in acknowledgement of Granger's pain, Harry dropped his head in his hands. They avoided the topic for the rest of the afternoon.

\- - -

They continued to avoid the topic for the rest of the week. Draco knew, if Weasley had sworn Harry to secrecy, that Harry wouldn't talk, so he didn't waste his time trying to make him. Harry seemed to assume the same thing, as he hadn't asked about Granger since Wednesday.

It was mid-afternoon on Friday, during a subdued self-study session when Draco, unable to forget the sadness in Granger's eyes, finally broached the subject.

“Have you seen Granger since... since Wednesday?”

Harry shook his head before turning to Draco. “No. I had dinner at Ron's last night, but I haven't heard from Hermione. I wanted to owl her, but...”

“But you don't know what to say?” Draco knew the feeling. Harry nodded. “Well, don't bother bad mouthing Weasley.” At Harry's frown, Draco continued, “She wouldn't believe you if you did.” At Harry's continued frown, Draco shrugged. “Just trust me.”

“Well, it's Friday, so I'm hoping to see her at the pub later like normal. You still coming?”

“Of course. I haven't seen Pansy since Tuesday, so I haven't had a chance to gossip with her about the big Gryffindor break up.”

“Draco! That's horrible. Please don't spread gossip about Ron and Hermione.” Harry may as well have been begging.

“Calm down, I was joking... to some extent.” Before Harry could interrupt with more chastising and pleading, Draco held up a hand to stop him. “We will discuss it; it's only normal when a couple you know splits up to talk about it.” At this Draco gave Harry a pointed look. “But I saw first-hand how upset Granger is; of course I won't spread rumours about her.”

“Okay. Good.” Harry seemed mollified.

He seemed to have missed the fact that Draco hadn't say anything about not spreading rumours about Weasley.

They carried on studying in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

At 5:00 pm the students in the quiet room began to get restless. By 5:15 people were slowly and surreptitiously beginning to pack their bags. 5:29 saw every eye in the room watching the clock. Not a second after 5:30 pm and everyone was on their feet, heading for the door.

It wasn't even 5:40 pm when Draco and Harry stepped out of the Floo and into the pub. It wasn't busy yet, and they easily spotted Granger sitting alone at a corner table reading a book.

“Only Hermione would bring a book to a pub,” said Harry, fondness written all over his face.

“You don't carry a book with you wherever you go?” Draco asked, conscious of the two paperbacks he had in his satchel.

“No, why would I?”

“In case.”

“In case what? I need to look up something without having the time to get to a library?”

“In case things get boring.”

Harry seemed to contemplate Draco's words before speaking. “You have a book in your bag, don't you?”

“Of course.” Draco lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Harry.

Harry laughed.

As they reached Granger, Harry was serious again. She looked up at them both and gave them a small smile. Draco smiled back, conveying his sentiments without words. Harry went the other way.

“Are you okay? Ron's a prat. Come here.” Harry held open his arms and Granger stood to be embraced. Harry continued to murmur into her ear, but Draco couldn't make out the words.

Leaving them to it, Draco went to get the three of them drinks. He and Harry always had the same, but Draco didn't know what Granger was drinking. After considering her current circumstances, Draco ordered the most alcoholic drink the bar served.

When Draco returned to the table Harry and Granger were sitting down. Granger had closed her book and Harry was fidgeting. As Draco set the drinks down they both seemed to relax.

“Thank you,” said Granger, giving Draco a smile.

Harry snatched up his drink and took a big gulp before slumping in his seat.

“How are you, Granger?” Draco asked, pulling his own glass closer as he sat down opposite her.

“I'm okay—better.” She shrugged.

Draco nodded. He knew this wasn't a situation he could make any better by talking. All the times Pansy had split up with boyfriends, she hadn't needed him to say anything after the initial indignation and outrage—she simply got drunk and bitched about the bloke until she'd found herself a new one. Granger obviously wasn't taking the same approach, but Draco assumed his role was the same—just to be there.

With that in mind, Draco decided to strike up a conversation decidedly not about Granger or Weasley.

“I heard it was supposed to snow next week.” The weather. England's safest topic of conversation. Draco would've cringed, except for the fact that it worked.

Harry sat up straight in his chair. “Snow!? But it's almost May!”

Of course Draco had been taking the piss; if he was forced to talk about the weather he always made the most outlandish accusations. It seemed Harry didn't know that, which meant their conversations had never been dull enough to have to resort to the topic. Draco grinned to himself.

“How can the prospect of snow make you smile?” Harry asked, shock still evident.

Draco lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. “I like to build snowmen.” It wasn't a lie; he _did_ like to build snowmen.

“What do you use for the nose?” Granger asked, with an air of seriousness. “I know a carrot is the most common, but I find courgettes do a marvellous job. Makes them look so friendly.”

“I like to use bananas, myself,” Draco replied, complying with Granger's feigned earnestness. “I find they can change the entire look of the face; curve up, curve down...”

“You are both bonkers!” Harry declared.

And that was all it took for Draco and Granger's façade to crumble. Their thoughtful faces dissolved into grins and giggles while Harry threw his arms up in air.

“Of course it's not going to snow, you plonker,” said Draco. “I was pissing about. I hate talking about the weather.”

“So why'd you bring it up in the first place?” asked Harry, obviously frustrated.

“Well, I...” Draco looked from Harry to Granger, unsure what to say. Granger had her eyes fixed on her drink. Draco looked back to Harry, who now looked uncomfortable.

The easy atmosphere of seconds ago was lost, replaced by awkwardness. It only got worse when the Floo sounded and Weasley stepped out and walked towards the bar. Draco instantly turned to Granger, but only the tightening of her hands around her glass gave away the fact that she'd seen her ex-boyfriend.

Harry started fidgeting again before spitting out an, “I'm sorry,” and rushing over to his knobhead of a friend. Draco wasn't sure what brought about such a strong reaction towards Weasley; he'd got over that childish impulse over a year ago. Then he glanced back at Granger and saw her trying to hold back her emotions.

“Come on,” said Draco impulsively. “Let's dance.”

Everything but shock disappeared from Granger's face. “Excuse me?”

“I'm asking you to dance.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll distract you, maybe cheer you up a little. And if nothing else, it will piss Weasley off immensely; not only will you be enjoying yourself and not giving a crap about him, but you'll be doing it with _me_.” Draco leaned towards Granger, smirk firmly in place, with an outstretched hand.

Granger's shocked melted into a mischievous smile and she took Draco's hand and allowed herself to be pulled out of her seat and towards the pub's small dance floor.

It was still early, there was no one else dancing and the music was relatively quiet and subdued, but that didn't put Draco off. Damnit all if Granger's display in the cafeteria hadn't wheedled its way into Draco's mind, leaving it impossible for him to see Granger sad or upset.

Embracing the awkwardness of the situation, Draco grasped Granger as suavely as he could manage and purposefully led her around the limited dance floor. For her part, Granger let him and laughed. She laughed so convincingly Draco was sure he was the only one to spot her smile faltering.

After the song they were dancing to finished Granger thanked Draco and excused herself to the lady's room. As she walked away she paid no mind to Harry and Weasley, still sitting at the bar. Draco did, and was pleased to note the red-faced ginger nut practically inhaling his beer in frustration, with Harry's hand on his shoulder, presumably to calm him down.

Job done, Draco turned to go back to his seat. That's when he spotted Pansy sitting at the table with a gin and tonic in her hand and a knowing look on her face.

“You must know,” said Draco as he sat back down next to Pansy.

“Of course I do, but that doesn't explain why you were dancing with the jilted lover.”

“I happened to have experience with jilted lovers.” Draco eyed Pansy meaningfully over his glass as he drank.

Pansy ignored him. “Surely she's got a bespectacled git's shoulder to cry on?”

“First of all, less of the 'git'; he's actually my friend and we're all old enough to be past that by now. Secondly, didn't you see him consoling the freckled freak at the bar?”

Glancing over at the bar, Pansy nodded absently-mindedly. “Oh yes. I don't pay attention to much until I've got a drink in front of me.”

“How do you manage to get through the day sober?” Draco asked, genuinely curious.

“Who says I do?” was Pansy's non-answer. “Regardless of the bespectacled twat's preferences, I don't understand why you would dance with Granger.”

“I'm getting forgetful. Pansy, dear, remind me who it was you were dancing with on that very dance floor just last Friday?” Pure innocence surrounded every one of Draco's words.

“That doesn't count,” Pansy said dismissively with a wave of her hand.

“Why?”

“I was doing that for _you_. And besides, with all the disco lights all I could see was my own refection in his glasses and it was wonderful.”

Draco laughed, then immediately followed it with a sigh. “I don't know what's going on with Weasley, but it's making Harry uncomfortable. I didn't realise until this evening, but he can barely be around Granger without it being awkward as hell.” Draco paused, took a drink and a glance at Pansy to make sure she was still listening and not throwing him her judgement eyes. “With Harry unable to be there for her, it has apparently fallen to me. I can't say _I'm_ not uncomfortable about it, but apparently I'm better at putting that aside and recognising a human being in pain.” Shaking his head, Draco had to wonder what the hell Weasley had said to Harry to make him feel such anxiety by simply being in Granger's presence.

“You're a good man, Draco.”

At Pansy's unexpected words, Draco physically recoiled in shock—at the same time as a warmth spread through his chest—and looked at his friend aghast. “What did you—”

“Don't let it go to your head. Now go fetch me another drink.” She waved her glass under his nose and Draco took it obediently, still questioning his hearing abilities.

At the bar, Draco ordered the drinks—another for Granger, too. The sooner that girl was drunk the better—and fished in his wallet for his money. As he did so, words drifted over to him from a short distance away.

“...no need to tell anyone else.”

“You can't expect me to do that, Ron.”

At the sound of Harry's voice, Draco turned slowly to look at the two men a few feet down the bar. They were hunched over the counter top and leaning close to each other, unaware of how near Draco was. Granger's fake smile still fresh in his memory and Pansy recent words disregarded, Draco surreptitiously slid down the bar, a little closer to the talkative duo.

“Hermione deserves to know, Ron. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“No! It's got nothing to do with her. No one needs to know but us. Please, Harry.”

A sigh. “You know I won't say anything if you don't want me to; if you're not ready.”

“Thank you.” Relieved laughter. “Thank you.”

From the corner of his eye Draco saw Weasley reach across Harry's shoulders and pull him close. Unable to hear or see anything more, Draco snatched up the drinks as soon as the barman set them down and all but ran back to the table.

Granger was back from the toilet (why did women always take so long?) and Pansy was regaling her with stories of her (many) ex-boyfriends. Draco distributed the drinks, downed half of his in less than five seconds and spent the rest of the evening talking to his best and newest friends about everything and anything other than what he'd overheard at the bar.

\- - -

Draco's weekend went like any other. He had a morning jog followed by a late lunch with Pansy and Theo on Saturday and then afternoon tea with his mother on Sunday. The distinct difference with this weekend was that he spent the entire time pondering the conversation he had overheard between Harry and Weasley.

Obviously it had been related to Weasley and Granger's break up; with how desperate Weasley was to make sure Harry didn't say anything, not to mention Harry's concern about Granger deserving to know.

The line that had Draco's insides squirming was, 'No one needs to know but us'. It bothered Draco that it bothered him so much. Harry and Weasley had been best friends since they were 11 years old. Of course they shared secrets only the other knew. Draco simply didn't like the idea that, now he and Harry were friends, there were things going on in Harry's life—things shared between him and Weasley—that Draco was not privileged to. A friendship of a few months had no weight against a friendship of many years, and Draco could admit it—he was jealous.

The puzzling parts, the snippets that kept coming back to Draco, were the fact that this secret they shared was 'nothing to be ashamed of' and that Harry wouldn't say anything while Weasley was 'not ready'. These phrases were achingly familiar to Draco; the first being something he told himself every single day for many years, and the second something he had had to explain to Pansy when he'd taken her into his confidence almost two years ago. A confidence which seemed all too similar to the one Weasley had taken Harry into.

Draco kept coming back to the same question: Was Weasley gay?

It would also explain why he had chosen to break up with and run off from Granger just as they were getting... physical. Unable to pretend any longer when presented with a pair of breasts was the exact reason Draco had had to tell Pansy he was gay.

What Draco refused to spend any amount of time thinking about was how close Harry and Weasley had been sitting at the bar, or about the arm Weasley had thrown across Harry's shoulders, or how Weasley had pulled Harry close to him. Draco adamantly did not think about any of that, or what it could signify.

\- - -

By Monday morning Draco was glad to have the distraction of work back. His morning on the Poisoned Paralysis ward was by far his favourite weekday morning. Once he had accompanied the Head Healer on a circuit of the ward to check the status of all the patients, he settled himself behind a cauldron in the lab and began the calm and orderly work of preparing ingredients.

It was about 20 minutes later, after stinging himself on nettles, slicing his thumb and violently squashing slugs while de-horning them, that Draco realised it wasn't going to be one of the calm and relaxing Monday mornings he was used to. He blamed his injuries and unsettled mind entirely on Ron Weasley. However much he wanted to, however much he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about—wondering about—what the hell was going on between Harry and Weasley.

Resigning himself to a less than relaxing morning and several more work related injuries, Draco began thinking up ways to weasel out of Harry what Weasley had confided in him—and why it had changed everything.

\- - -

Come lunch time, more than a few of Draco's fingers had small waterproof Spellasters adorning them. Draco self-consciously shoved his hands into his pockets as Harry came into view, rounding the stairs to the third floor landing where Draco was waiting for him. When Harry spotted Draco he smiled, but it was off. Draco could tell. It didn't reach his eyes, or maybe it did, but it was over done; Harry was trying too hard. Now Draco knew Harry had something to hide, all he could see was Harry hiding it.

“Hey,” Harry said. His smile dropped slightly. “Good morning?”

“Fair,” Draco replied with a small shrug. “How was Catastrophes?”

“Good. We had a Graphorn attack. Worst injuries I've seen since we started. Graham fainted. Have you ever seen a six foot seven inch bald man faint?”

“No. I'm glad I wasn't there. Was he embarrassed?”

“He played it off as an accident. Said he slipped in the blood. There _was_ a lot of it. What do you think Mabel's got for us today?”

“Surely fainting is more graceful, though? My ray of sunshine, the beautifully forever sullen, Mabel... anything but chips. I'm getting sick of chips.”

“More graceful, but less dignified, apparently. Can you get sick of chips? I fancy some chips.”

“I thought you were trying to be healthy. Yes, _I_ can get sick of chips. Apparently you can't. Is there anything you won't eat?” As much as Harry had bemoaned a lot of Draco's choice of lunches, he'd always managed to finish off what Draco couldn't eat.

“Gooseberries. I realised that trying to be healthy while eating with you five or six times a week is impossible. Is there anything healthy you _will_ eat?”

“What's wrong with gooseberries? I rather love them. And they're healthy. So there.” A pause, then, as an afterthought, “I eat salad.”

“Do you think salad on the side of a pizza or wrapped in bread with deep fried chicken is healthy? It's not. Gooseberries are too hairy; I don't want to put that in my mouth.” Harry shuddered, but it was too pronounced to be genuine.

This was Draco's opening. He'd be planning on engineering one, but here was Harry, stating he didn't want hairy things in his mouth. It was too perfect an opportunity to miss.

“Salad itself is always healthy. Do gooseberries remind you too much off a hairy ball sac?”

Harry snorted with laughter. “No. Gooseberries are much firmer than bollocks. If they were more like a ball sack I might actually be less put off.”

Two quickly raised and hastily lowered eyebrows was Draco's only reaction. “You like a hairy ball sack in your mouth?”

“That... is not what I said.” Harry scratched the back of one elbow awkwardly and looked away. It wasn't what he said, but he also wasn't denying it.

When they entered the cafeteria, Harry dashed ahead to snatch up a tray before hurriedly joining the back of the queue. Draco followed at a more sedate speed, feeling half vindicated and half disappointed.

Just behind Harry in the queue, Draco kept his head down. When he reached Mabel, Draco saw spaghetti and meat-balls being dished onto his plate. He looked up and gave a half-hearted smile, not expecting or attempting to provoke one in return. Mabel glanced ahead at Harry, then back at Draco before wordlessly—and cheerlessly—dolloping a couple of extra meat-balls onto Draco's plate. Draco's half-smile was suddenly full.

By the time Draco had reached the end of the line, tray full, Harry was already sitting at their table. Pushing aside his need to surreptitiously pump Harry for the truth, Draco took a deep breath and walked across to spend a pleasant lunch break with his friend.

Once he'd sat himself down opposite Harry, Draco took a mouthful of spaghetti with one of his extra meat-balls. Swallowing, he looked up at Harry. It was Monday, there was really only one question he could open with.

“Did you have a good weekend?”

Harry lifted his head and dragged his eyes away from his chips. He smiled at Draco.

“Yeah. I spent most of it with Ron. Eating take out, drinking beer and bitching about women. He needs it right now.”

And just like that, lunch was ruined.

Draco's mind got hung up on Harry's last sentence. He couldn't be sure if he'd heard 'He needs _it_ right now', or 'He needs _me_ right now'. He tried not to think about it, because Harry was still talking and Draco wasn't listening.

“...hard, you know?”

Having not heard, Draco didn't know. He also didn't care.

“You do realise Weasley is the one who dumped Granger, right? While you're consoling the person who initiated this break up, you're practically ignoring the person who didn't ask for it, didn't want it and currently doesn't know how to get over it.”

“This isn't about Hermione.”

Draco's eyes widened with more than just shock; he could feel his anger jump into being. He hated that it was directed at Harry, but—“What? Did you just say that Weasley breaking Hermione's heart has _nothing to do with her_?”

“No. No! That's not what I meant. I meant Ron—Ron's reasons and feelings on this, they aren't because of Hermione. And when did you start calling Hermione, Hermione?” Harry suddenly looked more annoyed than a few seconds ago when Draco's anger had shown.

Having, apparently, only deciding to start using Hermione's first name right then, Draco didn't know what to say.

“What does it matter? I thought this wasn't about Hermione?”

“You two just seem to be very close all of a sudden, that's all.” There was an air of 'I don't care' about Harry's words, but his pout didn't match it.

“When her best friend runs off with her suddenly ex-boyfriend, she takes what she can get. In this case, it happened to be me.”

“So, what, the dancing and laughing... you were her pity date or something?” It sounded like a joke, but there was no humour in Harry's voice. Draco was so distracted by Harry failing to deny the fact that he and Ron had run off together, that he failed to deny the accusation that he had been Hermione's date. “I'm sorry,” said Harry, the fight physically leaving him.

Draco relented. He didn't want to fight with Harry. “Me too.”

“I just wish I could talk about this properly, without having to keep Ron's secret.”

“Whatever it is, it must be serious.” Draco waited for a reaction from Harry. When all he got was pursed lips and a bend of the head, he continued. “But whatever it is, it's something Hermione deserves to know.”

“I know,” Harry whispered.

Unsatisfied, Draco finished his spaghetti and meat-balls in silence. Harry didn't talk again either.

\- - -

Draco's week continued as normal. He went to work, he had lunch with Harry (and carefully avoided talking about Hermione or Weasley), he studied. He came home and relaxed with a cup of tea and a book. Nothing had changed, but on Monday and Wednesday evening, he had exchanged a few owls with Hermione. He didn't know why. He just wanted to make sure she was doing okay and that he would be seeing her on Friday. So okay, he knew why: Draco cared. But he didn't know why he cared.

The only explanation that satisfied Draco was that he just hated Weasley that much. Hated him enough to grasp at the opportunity of Weasley being the bad guy. Weasley being cruel and nasty and hurting other people. Which left Draco with the opportunity to be the good guy. The nice and friendly one offering support to the injured party. It made a change, and after being the bastard for six long years, he more than owed it to Hermione, probably more than anyone else.

This reasoning, Draco told himself, more than anything else, was why he was still so determined to find out Harry and Weasley's secret. He didn't know how yet, but he was hoping observing more interaction between the two—on high alert to watch for any romantic signs—on Friday would be a good first step, or at least help him come up with ideas of how to infiltrate the pair.

He had abandoned the idea of subtly or directly trying to get any information out of Harry. He was too damn loyal to Weasley and Draco wasn't willing to risk their friendship with more angry conversations. He just wasn't. As much as he was beginning to appreciate his new and sudden friendship with Hermione, he would never trade his friendship with Harry for it. Draco didn't dwell too much on why.

Come 1:00 pm on Friday, Draco made his way swiftly to the Magical A&E ward ready to meet Harry from his shift. He found room nine—the room he used on Wednesday mornings and the room Harry used on Friday mornings—conspicuously empty; no one ever clocked off a shift at A&E on time, let alone early. Draco was about to go and ask Anne, the overworked and underpaid head of A&E, if she knew where Harry had gone when he heard a noise come from inside room nine.

Puzzled, Draco entered. The room was definitely empty, but, like all rooms in this department (A&E was by far and away the messiest of wards), room nine had a toilet. The toilet door was closed, and Draco moved towards it. Now he distinctly heard movement and muffled voices. Harry had to be inside. Without even stopping to think, Draco sidled up to to door and placed his ear against it.

“—rry, please!”

“Of course I will, but now is not the time, Ron. This is my work place.”

Weasley sounded desperate, and Harry sounded placating. Draco didn't stop listening.

“I don't care. I'm going crazy, I need this.”

“I know you do, but not here. Draco'll be coming to meet me any minute now.”

“This won't take long, Harry, I promise. I've waited so long. I need you—”

And that was all Draco could take. He stumbled away from the door and dashed from the room as fast as he could, his fears—his _suspicions_ —confirmed. Weasley had broken up with Hermione because he was gay, and he and Harry were now together. If that wasn't enough information, the revelation of a desperately horny Weasley wanting to fuck Harry in a toilet certainly took the biscuit.

Draco made his way to lunch alone. He collected his runny curry from an unsmiling but worried-looking Mabel and sat down to eat it automatically, his thoughts still back in room nine, pressed up against the toilet door.

By the time Harry made his appearance in the cafeteria Draco had finished eating.

“Hey, where were you?” Harry asked. “I waited for ages.”

Waited for ages, got fucked for ages, Draco guessed it made no difference to Harry.

“Sorry,” managed Draco. “I was starving, so I came straight here.”

“Oh, okay.” Harry may have looked a little hurt, but Draco wasn't paying enough attention to know for sure. “Well, I'll just go get my lunch.”

Draco had planned to make up an excuse before leaving, but bottled it at the last second. Instead, he slipped away quietly while Harry waited in line to have Mabel scowl at him.

\- - -

By the time Draco made it to Friday afternoon's self-study session he was feeling pretty fraught. He had spent the remainder of his lunch up on the roof of St Mungo's smoking. He had neither been there nor done that since early on in his Healer training—since he'd become friends with Harry. Hence Harry wouldn't think of looking for him there.

He was shocked and upset about what he'd discovered about Harry and Weasley. It was as he had suspected, but to have it confirmed—and in such a crude fashion—was obviously what had driven him to the roof—to the cigarettes.

He paced backwards and forwards, never getting more than four or five paces before feeling the need to turn around and walked the other way. This bothered him. Whatever was going on between Harry and Weasley—however serious—really bothered Draco. It couldn't be that they were gay; Draco was gay, he didn't care about that. So why had he been driven to pacing the roof and smoking?

Hermione. Draco had been determined to find out what Weasley and Harry had been hiding from her, because she deserved to know. And now he'd discovered that Weasley had broken up with her in order to jump into the pants of their mutual best friend. That was why he was so het up. Hermione had been royally screwed over, or not, was the thing, because her now ex-boyfriend was as bent as a boomerang.

Draco was wearing the soles of his shoes away pacing on gravel and poisoning his lungs by inhaling on tobacco because he really did care about his new friend Hermione.

This eased Draco's tension a little, but as he stubbed out his fourth cigarette and made his way back down the stairs, he began worrying about how he was going to tell Hermione why exactly Weasley broke up with her.

Sitting beside Harry, one half of the reason for his frustrated and stressed state of mind, Draco could barely concentrate on his studying. Harry kept giving him looks, obviously wondering why Draco had run off at lunch, but so far he hadn't said anything. Probably worried he'd done something wrong. Which he _had_ , Draco reminded himself.

All Draco could do was a passable imitation of studying while his mind flipped between if and how to tell Hermione what he now knew, and gazing at the clock—counting down the time until he'd have to face her and probably blurt it out very unsubtly.

“Are you okay?” Harry whispered at him from the side of his mouth. At Draco's curt nod, Harry continued. “Are you sure? Why didn't you wait for me at lunch? Have I done something?”

Draco almost wanted to roll his eyes at Harry's predictable self-deprecation, but really, it was comforting to know, regardless of his sneaking around with Weasley, he was still the same old Harry.

With a shake of his head Draco managed a quick, “Don't worry about it,” before continuing with his mock studying.

Harry didn't get the hint. “Okay,” he said, not sounding okay at all. He sighed, obviously still worrying. This time Draco did roll his eyes. Then suddenly Harry was leaning closer to Draco and sniffing. “Have you been smoking?”

With a small shrug of one shoulder, Draco barely acknowledged the question.

“I thought you'd stopped months ago.”

Pausing his faux studiousness, Draco turned to frown at Harry. He'd known?

As if hearing Draco's thoughts, Harry said, “Of course I knew. You always had a pack of cigarettes in your pocket and came back from mid-afternoon breaks smelling of smoke. Did you think you were being covert?”

“I just didn't think you were that observant.”

Harry ignored the jibe. “I thought you'd stopped because you're going to be a Healer and you wanted to set an example.”

Draco dismissed Harry's words with a hefty shrug. He didn't say that the reason he'd stopped was because Harry had mentioned in passing one day how unattractive he found smoking.

They fell into silence again until the stroke of 5:00 pm. At which point Harry looked over at Draco with raised, questioning eyebrows. In response, Draco nodded; yes, he was coming to the pub.

\- - -

After stepping out of the Floo, Draco paused and looked around the pub. Neither Hermione nor Pansy were there yet, but seated hunched over a beer at the bar was Weasley. Draco turned to Harry who looked anxiously back at him.

“I'd, er, better go say hi to Ron.” Harry turned away and made his way slowly over to the bar.

“Of course you had,” Draco said to his retreating back.

After getting himself a pint from the opposite end of the bar, Draco ensconced himself into a booth at the back of the pub and grabbed a book from his bag. Sipping slowly—he didn't want to be _too_ drunk by the time Hermione got there—he read to try to keep his mind occupied.

It didn't work.

More than occasionally glancing up at the bar, Draco could see the empty pint glasses quickly accumulating around Harry and Weasley. He saw their frequent and lingering pats of the shoulder. He saw their heads bowed together talking. Draco tried not to imagine what they were talking about. He tried not to imagine what had happened earlier in room nine's toilet. He tried not to imagine what would happen later when Harry and Weasley would no doubt leave together.

Every time Draco shook off these thoughts and tried to get back to his book, he would realised he had read paragraphs of text without absorbing a single word. He would then begin to re-read it all, before being distracted by the thought and sight of Harry and Weasley, and once again not take in the words he was reading.

It was only when Hermione bound up to Draco's booth and embraced him across the table that Draco realised he hadn't actually given a thought—breaking the news or being angry on her behalf—to her while he had been sitting glaring at Harry and Weasley over the top of his book and not really reading at all.

“Hi, Draco,” said Hermione somewhere near his ear.

Draco hugged her back unashamedly. “Hello, Hermione.”

They let go, and Hermione looked down at Draco's half-full pint glass. She picked it up and frowned.

“It's warm. How long have you been sitting here? Too engrossed in your book?”

“Something like that,” Draco mumbled as he hastily shoved his book back in his bag. “Doesn't matter now you're here.”

Hermione smiled. “I'll get us drinks.”

While she was gone Draco considered how to broach the Ron topic. The Ron and Harry topic. The Ron and Harry are now fucking each other topic... He hung his head in his hands; Hermione was going to be devastated. She'd not only lost her boyfriend, she'd lost her best friend.

When a full pint of fresh beer was placed by his head, Draco looked up.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked, a look of pure concern on her face. “Anyone would think you were the one who'd been dumped.” Her concern morphed into a sly smile.

Draco didn't laugh. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Hermione looked serious again as she sat opposite him and waited.

Unable to refrain, Draco glanced sideways up at the bar, where Harry and Weasley were throwing their heads back in laughter. He bit his lip and turned back to Hermione, determined. Instead of looking at him, Hermione's eyes had turned to follow Draco's and now she too was looking intently at Harry and Weasley.

“It's about Harry,” said Hermione, still not looking at Draco.

“Well, partly, yes...” replied Draco, trying to be cautious. “I don't like that I have to tell you, but...”

Draco paused when a slight movement of Hermione's eyes made it clear she had moved her attentions to Weasley specifically. Slowly, a small smile crept onto her face while a sadness and longing filled her eyes. Draco suddenly abandoned what he was going to say and looked over at Harry and Weasley once again.

“You still love him.” Draco didn't bother posing it as a question.

“Of course I do,” Hermione answered anyway.

And just like that, Draco knew he couldn't tell her. He couldn't cause her more pain than she was already going through, loving someone who had made it clear he didn't want to be with her any longer. It would all come out later, anyway. Maybe that was the right way. In a few weeks or months, once Hermione's heart had had a chance to heal and Harry had convinced Weasley to go public, it would be better for everyone that way.

The decision made and his resolve strong, Draco tried to push past the emotions he'd harboured on the matter. He tried to stop caring about Harry and Weasley sitting close at the bar and whispering in each other ears. He tried to stop caring about the sex he had narrowly avoided overhearing. He tried to stop caring, but found he couldn't. Apparently he wasn't simply angry about Harry and Weasley's relationship on Hermione's behalf—he was angry about it full stop.

And then Hermione's words from a few minutes ago seemed to echo back to Draco in his mind. _Anyone would think you were the one who'd been dumped_.

Staring directly at the back of Harry's head, Draco realised that was exactly what it _felt_ like. It felt like anything—any chance—he had had with Harry was over. Over before Draco even realised he _had_ a chance—that he _wanted_ a chance. And he did. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, Draco knew he wanted the chance to be with Harry. But he'd already lost it.

“I'm a fool,” whispered Draco to himself. He watched helplessly as Harry and Weasley stood up and walked together to the toilet. An act which some part of Draco recognised as suspicious, but was too busy being shocked and frustrated with himself to consider.

“Oh, are you having a moment of clarity?” Hermione's voice reached Draco over the gap his thoughts had created between himself and the world around him.

“Sorry?” asked Draco, frowning at Hermione's small but immensely pleased smile.

“A moment of clarity?” she repeated. “It's only that you were looking at Harry when your eyes kind of glazed over and your mouth made a little 'o'... So I assumed you'd finally realised you liked him.”

“How—” Draco changed tact. “What are you talking about?”

“Please don't deny it,” Hermione pleaded. “You might've been too close to see it, but anyone with slight skills in observation—for example, eyes—could see there's been something between you two for years.”

“Years? I don't—”

“Having experience in the same situation, since everyone but Ron and I could see how we felt about each other, please let me give you some advice?”

Hermione waited patiently for Draco to catch up quickly to what was going on—the fact that he liked Harry being a given to everyone but him, apparently—before he nodded and she continued.

“Do something about it. Tell him, _show_ him. Don't let him get away, because he might be slow to realise his own feelings, but they are there. And they won't wait forever for his brain to catch up.”

Draco swallowed, unable to speak, and nodded. What Hermione didn't realise was that he'd already let him get away.

After a large gulp of his beer, Draco nodded again before finally managing to speak.

“Just don't tell Harry, okay?”

Before Hermione could answer, a familiar voice spoke from the other end of the table.

“Don't tell Harry what?”

Turning his head slowly, Draco took in the towering ginger form of Weasley, hands on hips and obviously prepared to defend his boyfriend.

“Nothing. It's none of your business,” Draco snapped. He hated how much worse he felt about Harry dating Weasley now he'd realised _he_ wanted to date Harry.

“It is my business if you're keeping secrets from my best mate!” Weasley snapped back.

“Keeping secrets? You're one to talk.” Draco raised meaningful eyebrows at Weasley before tilting his head slowly towards Hermione.

Weasley blanched and Hermione gave a small, awkward cough.

“I'll leave you two to it, shall I?” Hermione didn't wait for an answer before walking swiftly away.

Hermione wasn't even out of sight before Weasley was in her seat, leaning over the table and practically growling his rage in Draco's face.

“What do you know?”

Draco leaned back casually in his chair, enjoying having worked Weasley up so easily. He picked up his pint glass and drank from it casually, wasting time and making Weasley squirm. It was only when another growl came from across the table that Draco put down his glass and looked Weasley in the eye.

“I know everything.” Draco spoke calmly and impassively, though he felt neither.

“No,” said Weasley. “Only Harry knows, and he wouldn't tell you—he wouldn't tell _anyone_.”

“He didn't need to. It's obvious. The way you're both acting. Not to mention the conversations I unwantedly overheard...” Draco let his voice trail off, letting Weasley's imagination do its worst.

Weasley's nervous gulp was audible over the babble of voices around the pub. “Conversations?”

“You and Harry. Locked in a toilet together. _Begging_ him to—”

“Fuck!”

“Exactly,” Draco finished with a satisfied smile he didn't truly feel.

“What?” Weasley's exclamation sounded more shocked compared to his previous anger.

Draco hesitated. “You and Harry, in the loo, begging him to fuck...”

“ _What!?_ ” Now Weasley was shocked _and_ angry. “You think you overheard us shagging in the bog?”

“Well, I didn't hang around to listen to the main event; the begging was nauseating enough.”

“I don't know what you think you heard, Malfoy, but me and Harry shagging was not it.” A shudder passed visibly through Weasley, as if in repulsion. Draco frowned.

“You and Harry—you're...”

“ _Friends_. I'm sure you've heard of the concept; Harry's been insisting you're one of his for bloody months. We are not fuck buddies. Jeez.”

“So, you aren't...?” Draco left the question hanging, but Weasley only lifted his shoulders in puzzlement. “...Gay?”

Weasley's whole demeanour brightened and he laughed. “No. Just because my best friend is gay and we both happen to be single, does not mean I am gay by association.”

And there was everything Draco wanted to hear uttered in one sentence, even if it was out of Weasley's mouth. Harry was gay, single and definitely _not_ fucking Weasley.

“Now I know you were barking up the wrong tree about _my_ secret, what the hell is yours?” Weasley was quickly back to be being angry again.

Draco shook his head. “Don't worry,” he said, making his mind up in an instant. “I'm going to tell Harry.”

Weasley narrowed his eyes in obvious distrust. “Okay then. You'd better. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bushy-haired beauty I need to beg the forgiveness of.” And with that he disappeared into the increasingly busy bar.

After downing the rest of his pint (which was a struggle, due to the fact that he couldn't stop smiling), Draco got up and gazed around the pub. Unable to spot a messy head of brown hair, Draco stood on his chair and looked harder. Finally he spotted Harry at the bar, alone, with another beer in his hand.

Stumbling happily from his chair to the floor, Draco made his way across the pub to the bar. To Harry. Draco sat down beside Harry and managed to order a beer, but still Harry hadn't looked up at him. In fact Harry wasn't looking anywhere but into his beer.

“I take it you don't need another one?” asked Draco, simply in order to get Harry's attention.

Harry's sombre head raised and he look up at Draco with unfocused eyes and a smile. “Draco!”

“You definitely don't need another one.” Draco could recognise a drunk Harry when he looked into the dreamy eyes of one.

Draco took a large nervous gulp of his drink, embarrassed that he was already freely admitting to himself that Harry's eyes were _dreamy_. He was a goner.

“Beer cheers me up. Clears me head. Helps me sleep. Really, there's nothing that beer can't do.” Harry lifted his glass, as if presenting Draco with the evidence. Then he knocked back the evidence and waved his glass over the bar until the barman replaced it with a full one. “Do you like beer?”

“Beer makes you drunk,” Draco stated plainly. Harry grinned at him. “I like it.” Draco leaned close and spoke so quietly only he and Harry would hear. “I like you.”

Harry's grin wavered a little before he took the first sip of his fresh pint. As he placed the glass down on the bar he said, “You must be drunk, too. How much have you drunk?”

“This is my third, and I didn't even finish my first. I am warm, not even tipsy. You, on the other hand, are adorably pissed. Did you know?” Draco, suddenly feeling drunk on his own emotions, went so far as to reach out and pinch Harry's cheek.

“You're wasted,” was Harry's instant response. “Maybe you should get wasted more often.” He smiled. “I could cope with more compliments and... and nice things. Gifts are nice. Do you have any of those?”

“What kind of gift would you like? I have nothing material. I'm not buying you more beer. How about...” Draco plucked up his courage. “How about a kiss?”

Harry continued to smile. He was staring at Draco but his eyes looked far away. “As nice as that would be, I don't think your girlfriend would much appreciate it. Where is she by the way?”

Draco let out a bark of laughter. “Pansy's not my girlfriend.”

“I know.” Harry looked indignant. “I'm drunk, I'm not stupid. She'll sleep with anything that walks; you have far better taste.” Harry turned away and mumbled in a way he obviously though was inaudible, but which was actually normal volume. “It could be better, though.”

“Are you so drunk you're imagining things? Or has someone spiked your drink? What are you on about? What girlfriend?”

“It's okay, you don't have to pretend. I understand, to some extent.” Harry sighed and drank. And sighed again. “She was heartbroken, upset. You were there for here. More than me, her supposed best friend. Of course she'd fall into your arms.” Harry looked up earnestly at Draco. “Just don't hurt her, okay?”

Draco's jaw dropped open. “You think I'm dating Hermione?”

“I don't think, I know. I'm not stupid _and_ blind.” Shaking his head, Harry corrected himself. “I'm _neither_ of those things!”

“Harry.” Draco was amazed by the hurt on Harry's face. He hoped it was the same kind of hurt he had experienced when he thought Harry and Weasley were together, but assumed it more likely to be because Harry thought he'd not been honest with him. “Harry,” Draco repeated, clasping Harry's shoulder to get his full attention. “I'm not dating Hermione. Hermione is not my girlfriend. She's my friend.” It seemed natural now, their friendship. Draco smiled. “Besides, I'm gay.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could say. Then he frowned. “Why were you so weird with me then? So defensive on Hermione's behalf? So... _mean_?”

“I didn't mean to be mean...” Now Draco felt guilty about his incorrect assumptions about Harry and Weasley and how it had made him act towards Harry. “I'm sorry. I _was_ genuinely miffed you and Weasley were hiding something from Hermione, but I'm sorry if I was unnecessarily nasty about it.”

Harry nodded and seemed somewhat mollified. “Apology accepted.”

“Of course I don't actually _know_ if I was unnecessarily nasty, because I still don't know what Weasley's big secret is.”

“Oh jeez, that. He's been bugging me about it since the break up. He's an idiot. He was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Having sex.”

“Having...”

“Sex.” Harry wasn't keeping his voice down. “Sex with Hermione.” Now he was whispering.

Draco wasn't sure he really wanted to know the big secret any more, but leaned closer to listen anyway.

“He told me the one time he'd tried to have sex—with Lavender, at school—as soon as he'd got his pants off she—” Harry scrunched up his face, unable to carry on. Draco waited patiently and after a few seconds Harry took a deep breath and continued in a rush. “She took one look at his dick and burst out laughing.”

“I imagine that could leave someone with a complex of some kind,” said Draco politely, successfully holding back his own laughter. For now.

“A complex and a half, fucking hell. He would not let it go. Speculating about _why_ she'd laughed, what was _wrong_ with his dick, how much _Hermione_ would laugh, that he'd never be able to _show_ anyone. Except me; bloody hell, he wouldn't stop begging _me_ to look at it.”

Suddenly the conversation Draco had overheard in the toilet earlier made a bit more sense. “Weasley begged you to...”

“Look at his cock, yes. When he wasn't philosophising over what could be wrong with it, he was trying to whip it out and show me. I kept trying to reassure him, but he wouldn't have it. Said he wanted a _medical_ opinion, from someone he could trust, someone who—” Harry held up his hands and made air quotes. “—understood dicks.” He shook his head. “I'm gay, not the cock whisperer. Anyway, after he locked me in a toilet with him and all but threatened to smack me around the face with the thing, I told him okay, but I couldn't do it stone cold sober.”

“Ah.” Now Draco understood why Harry had been drinking more heavily than usual this evening.

“Ah,” repeated Harry. “Tonight was the night. After several beers he locked me in _another_ toilet and I finally got to see what all the fuss was about.”

“And?” said Draco, suddenly more interested than he thought he'd be. If Weasley had some kind of genital disfigurement he wanted the gruesome details. If it sounded really bad he might want pictures.

“And nothing. His dick is fine. Not diseased, not grossly under- or over-sized, not a weird colour, no extra bits, no _missing_ bits, no hexes, curses or charms. His dick is as normal as normal can be.”

“And you reassured him of this, which is why he's now chasing down Hermione and trying to win her back.” Draco could see Weasley pleading with his newest friend across the room at the table he had previously vacated. He felt sure he knew what Weasley was begging for this time.

“He is? Aww, that's good.”

“If Weasley has a boringly average penis, why would his ex-girlfriend have laughed at it?”

“My guess would be the abundance of ginger pubes that engulf it at one end.” And with that Harry downed his umpteenth beer of the night and laughed. “You can _never_ tell him I told you any of this.”

“I wouldn't do that, Harry. What do you take me for?” For a moment Harry looked relieved at Draco's words, but then he continued. “It'll be much for fun to tease him about it in subtle ways so he'll never be quite sure if I know about it or not.”

“You are truly a terrifying man,” said Harry with a groan.

“It's what makes me so loveable.” Draco grinned, hopeful and unsure.

Harry looked at him seriously. “I was wrong about you and Hermione?”

“Oh so very, very wrong.”

“Good,” said Harry with a smile. “I'll take that gift now.”

All the tension left Draco's body as he casually leaned close to Harry, closer than they had ever been before, and touched their lips together.

From across the room came the dissonant sound of Pansy's shout.

“FINALLY!”

\- - -

Draco's Monday morning had been perfect. After a stress free round of checking the in-patients on the Poisoned Paralysis ward, Draco spent a delightful morning brewing potions and reminiscing about his weekend. He'd blown off all his usual engagements—even afternoon tea with his mother—to spend every waking hour with Harry. They had talked, walked, eaten, danced, talked some more. Of course mostly they'd kissed. Draco lips felt heavy from it.

When Harry met him for lunch, just like usual, Draco couldn't stop himself from embracing him right there in the third floor corridor.

“Hi,” said Harry with a bright smile.

“Hi,” replied Draco, just as happily.

They made their way to the cafeteria hand in hand. They asked each other about their mornings, but otherwise hardly spoke. The atmosphere between them was filled with mutual feeling now.

Draco only let go of Harry's hand when he had to pick up his tray. As they moved along the line towards the food, they began lightly elbowing each other and laughing instead.

Before he knew it, Draco was face to face with Mabel. She eyed Draco up and down before glancing at Harry. As she dished vegetable lasagne onto Draco's plate Mabel did something Draco never thought she would.

She smiled.


End file.
